


Incomparable

by goobzoop



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Pining for Hotch’s voice, Public Masturbation, thrill of getting caught, ¬‿¬
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25692661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goobzoop/pseuds/goobzoop
Summary: Spencer Reid is an exhibitionist; it’s the best kept secret in the BAU. He's got one hand working fast and he's two seconds away from heaven. He just needs the deep timbre of Hotch's voice threatening to catch him in the act to send him over the edge.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Comments: 80
Kudos: 221





	1. Does He Know?

**Author's Note:**

> For Shakespearswhore

Spencer Reid grips the counter with white knuckles. He’s so close to cumming he can taste it. His mirrored reflection is staring back at him with desperate, lust blown eyes and he pries them away to look at the door. The handle shakes; someone is going to come in the bathroom. 

It only makes him harder, makes his hand grip tighter and stroke faster. His jaw is hanging slack and a bead of sweat is born on his brow. 

Could be anyone: Someone from the team, a LEO, a civilian. The thought is _thrilling_. 

No one enters. He pumps himself three times more before spilling onto the countertop and openly moaning. It’s the best kept secret in the FBI that Spencer Reid is a closet exhibitionist. 

He tucks himself back into his slacks, flattens down his shirt, and washes his hands. He leaves his cum where it is. 

That was Florida. 

In Maine he ducks into a broom closet at the station and rubs one out hard and fast. Images of men flicker through his head; he has every porno he’s ever watched at his disposal. 

He doesn’t use the porn so much anymore. He likes the thrill. Danger lies right around the corner threatening to drag him down into the mud with one mistake. One slip up would be all it takes for him to lose every ounce of credibility he has. Head resting against a metal shelf as he leans over and touches his wanting cock, throbbing and begging to spill; that could be it. 

He hears a pair of footsteps outside the door and spills out on an upturned bucket. Thrilling. 

Texas is nerve wracking in the sort of way that he knows whoever may bust him also may be willing to shoot on sight, even if that's a huge over exaggeration and he knows it. He’s inside an empty conference room and the door isn’t locked. There’s a mounted set of bull’s horns on the wall and a cactus in the corner. Southern accents are flying around outside the room. 

The team is somewhere close by, too, he can hear Morgan and Prentiss. That fuels his fire, but they’re not the voice he’s looking for. That one is much deeper and far more commanding. He settles on the fact that the blinds are peakable and imagines someone peering in on him with his hand shoved in his pants, leaning over the conference room table. His hair is wild. His face is flushed. His cock and balls are hotter than the scorching black tar pavement outside the precinct. It’s a blazing summer afternoon in Texas. 

His eyes flutter closed but he snaps them open, unwilling to compromise the thrill of seeing someone right outside. He pumps into his sweaty fist until he comes, and he’s thinking about hard pressed suits and stern eyes, maybe even the quiet disappointment of a certain someone’s boring into him. He wipes his hand on the back of a chair and fixes his tie before he returns back to reality. 

On the way back from a case in New Mexico, Reid locks himself in the bathroom of the jet. Little space means knocking his elbows on the soap dispenser and sending his knee into the plastic toilet. He doesn’t think about that; the only thing on his mind is getting his belt unlatched and the soft voices floating in. 

If he can hear them that means they can hear him if they listen for it. His belt jingles, his pants drop, and his briefs and slide down his thighs. His cock is already standing at attention; he’s been thinking about doing exactly this since the moment he stepped on the jet, and maybe even a little bit before that back at the station in New Mexico where he couldn’t find even one minute to sneak away. Precum beads heavily at the tip. He spits on his hand and goes to work. It’s messy and frantic, just the way he likes it. The wet _schlick schlick schlick_ is just loud enough to send a shiver down his spine. 

Images flicker into his mind. Men, toned and wanting him. Men, dominant, chest hair, calloused hands. Strong jaw, scratchy stubble. He banishes them away. 

He focuses on the voices; that’s something he can’t memorize. They spin together, everyone talking at once. Something about a new Drew Barrymore movie out in theaters and another about the reasons a mountain bike can outrun a road bike any day. They’re so close and he’s not being subtle. Someone says something about a Kona bike with aluminum butted frame material and Reid pinpoints that voice. 

It’s dark and deep and it plagues his fantasy world more than he’s willing to openly admit. The only thing better than the fear of getting caught with his cock in his hand is the thought of Hotch doing it. 

He focuses on Hotch’s voice. Tipping, lulling. Hesitation as he’s responding to something cheeky Rossi is saying, passion as he gets on about his upcoming race. It’s expressive and rich in a way that Reid can’t stand but also can’t get enough of. His cock is red, aching, and verging on uncomfortable the way he’s speeding up the pace. He’s been in the bathroom for almost five minutes and it’s starting to border on unacceptably long. (Studies show that people spend two to five minutes in the bathroom on average.) 

He’s tries to hurry himself up before someone comes looking. Hotch’s voice is clear and strong. Coil spring 100mm fork. Something about— he reaches out to the wall and bangs his elbow on the soap dispenser. He curses, but no loader than he moans. The wall steadies him. His hand goes faster. He spits down and it slicks his cock. He almost misses, but he doesn’t. Tenor hydraulic brakes. Hotch is laughing, it almost goes right to his cock but it takes a pit stop at his heart and he shudders from head to toe. He’s so close to spilling his load, he just wants to hear those gruff, thick undertones one more time as he does it. 

Footsteps are coming closer. He hasn’t tried to hurry it up. This is what he wanted all along and he knows it. They get closer and closer until there’s a loud knock on the plastic door and he croaks out— 

“What?”

“I came to see if you’re alright in there.” Hotch. Yes. 

_Yes._

That’s exactly what he needs and he’s less than two feet away. It’s thrilling, so incredibly thrilling. He rubs faster, hand pressed hard against the wall. Hotch is right there. 

“Yes, I’m fine, Hotch.” 

His hips move in tandem with the furious thrusts of his fist. It’s all red hot desire and he’s threatening to explode. He can’t stand a single second more. He needs to hear Hotch one more time, _just one._

“Good. I need to get in there when you’re _finished,_ ” He says.

Reid cums instantly. Hotch had a smirk and he could _hear_ it on his lips. He splatters on the plastic wall and milks himself until he’s all out. 

“Yes, Hotch,” He manages, because he’s coming down from his high and needs to act like a normal person. “I finished.” 

He hears a chuckle and then silence. Reid isn’t sure if he was toeing the line or jumping brazenly over it. With his slacks buttoned up he decides that even if he was toeing it before, he’s jumping now, and shuts the door behind him with his seed still dripping down the airplane plastic. 

“It’s all yours,” He says, chest nearly pressed up against Hotch’s in the narrow space. Hotch has remnants of the smirk that he imagined still on his lips, and there’s a knowing look in his eye that makes him flush red with a heavy dose of lusty shame.

The thrill is incomparable.


	2. He Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More about Spencer jerkin' it in public places with his boss lurking in the background

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mom told me not to dedicate pornfics to ppl but this is for fckingawful because u tickled me pink

There’s no scream. That’s good. There’s no busting down of doors, or pink slips on his desk the following morning. That’s good. 

But Hotch _knows._

That’s bad. That’s bad? 

That’s _bad._

Hotch knows, Reid is sure of it. He excuses himself to the bathroom on their next case and can’t help but flicker his eyes over to Hotch before he leaves. Hotch is staring right back.

Hotch knows. 

California bathrooms are dirty. The LAPD doesn’t seem to value personal hygiene. Reid cleans the bathroom counter and hops up on it. There are five empty stalls and an unlocked door. If anyone comes in he’ll have to stumble off the counter and there will be no time to shove his cock back in his pants and zipper up. He’ll be over. 

There’s lotion on the counter. It makes the sensation so much more intense. Every stroke is expressive and sharp. The _Schlick Schlick Schlick_ of his wet dick resonates around the empty room broadcasting his indecency. Any moment now anyone could come in. 

Squeezing the tip has always been Reid’s Achilles heel. One good squeeze and he’s done for. It’s so sensitive. There are nearly four thousand nerve ending in the tip of a penis. That’s overstimulation heaven. 

He’s listening to the thud of shoes walking past as he gives his tip one tight, wet squeeze and he hears a knock at the bathroom door. Without missing a beat Hotch’s voice comes through, “You okay in there, Reid?”

Reid’s immediate reply is his orgasm voice. He moans from deep in the back of his throat and he _can’t_ stop it. 

It doesn’t matter, anyway. There’s no reason for Hotch to knock on the door of a public bathroom. Hotch _knows._ Now he’s heard it. (Maybe for the second time.) 

Reid exits the bathroom not even a minute later but Hotch is gone. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed. 

Hotch makes good timing in New Hampshire, too, depending on your definition of good timing. Reid is just about ready to pop, hiding in the bedroom of the Unsub Hotch just shot downstairs, which is risky even for him, but he’s riding high on adrenaline and needs his release. 

Hotch ends up on the other side of the door once again. “Reid, we’re leaving. Are you coming?” he says. Smirking, Reid can tell. 

He cums. 

He wipes up with a tissue and stuffs it in his pocket because there’s no way in hell he's leaving his DNA at a crime scene. 

Downstairs, Hotch is waiting. Just him. Everyone else is in the van and there’s no reason Hotch has to wait. 

Hotch knows fully well, of that he is sure. From the looks of it he's playing a game of his own: How many times can he just barely catch Reid in the act? 

It’s a tease. It’s a power move. It’s _thrilling._

It’s all three wrapped up in one. It’s exactly what Reid is missing. 

Hotch shakes the doorknob of the bathroom next time. He’s saying: _I could come in if I wanted to._

The time after that, Hotch opens the door just a sliver and he jerks back so violently he stumbles and falls. He cums when he hits the floor to the sound of Hotch's laughter and it’s the most intense orgasm of his life. 

Reid doesn’t know what Hotch has in store next. Hotch is toeing so close to the line that his heart starts to hammer in his chest any time he lays eyes on him. 

Anticipation is nearly oozing out of him. 

He’s boreline afraid to go into the bathroom on the next case in Maryland, but he does. He’s got nothing on his mind except for Hotch’s timely knocks, and hides in the stall for good measure. 

He never thinks about the random people walking past anymore, much less porn. Only Hotch crosses his mind. He’s the only one that makes him feel excited and embarrassed all at the same time, and he’s the only one who gives him that sweet exhilaration of being _so close_ to exposure. 

He has his back leaning on the green plastic of the stall, facing the toilet. His cock is heavy and throbbing, sitting stiff and velvety smooth in his hand. It’s heavy and promising him a sweet release if he treats it right. 

He licks his hand and slicks it up, starting slow, then works up to a brutal pace. His fist is clenched so tight around himself he knows that nothing could feel quite as good. 

He’s rounding the corner to his orgasm, and realizes that Hotch must be paying very close attention to his habits because he always appears at just the right time. 

There’s no knock. He isn’t even sure that it’s Hotch that comes into the bathroom but it doesn’t stop his hand from moving a mile a minute. The only indication that it’s Hotch is his voice coming in low and raspy from right on the other side of the stall and it isn’t inquisitive at all; it’s demanding and aware. 

“Reid,” he whispers. 

The hairs on the back of Reid’s neck stand straight up. 

There’s just the sound of him pumping his wet dick and then he moans out, “H-Hotch.” 

Reid _knew_ that laugh meant something, because he’s doing it again and he’s clearly pleased with himself. 

“Finish up, Reid,” He says, louder this time, with more intention.

He rubs his wet hand frantically _Schlick Schlick Schlick_ and chokes out, “Yes, Sir.” Just a few more strokes, then he squeezes his tip as he shoots out hot, sticky cum and releases a breathy moan of relief and pleasure. 

There’s a brief silence in the bathroom. 

“I finished,” He pants. 

Hotch is smirking again. “Perfect.” 

In Oregon, he’s standing in a barely concealed closet with a dim light hanging overhead. There’s a calendar tacked on the wall from two years prior. He’s got his pants around his ankles and his hand in between his thighs, rubbing his cock fastidiously. The door behind him is unlocked as always. He’s practically inviting someone to open it up and get a flash of his bare bottom and hairy thighs. 

He’s around the point where his moans are getting throaty and dry when he hears the door creak open and he doesn’t have to look back to know it’s Hotch. He can smell his aftershave, feel his presence, hear his controlled breaths. 

Hotch leaves the door slightly open behind them; Reid can hear the sounds of the hallway much more acutely. Hotch can see his ass in full view and he hopes he’s looking. The anticipation in the room is palpable. 

Reid is thrusting into his fist and Hotch still hasn’t said a word. He can feel the heat radiating off his body as he stands behind him and watches. 

“Getting close, Reid?” He doesn’t even whisper. He’s unapologetically demeaning an answer. Reid whimpers. He bucks his hips and grips harder. 

“Yes.” He’s like a broken record but he knows what Hotch wants to hear. “So close, Hotch.”

He wants Hotch's hands to reach out and squeeze his ass or wrap around his waist and grip his cock for him, but they don’t. He can feel Hotch’s stare and feel his thoughts weighing heavy on his shoulders as he moans one more time. 

“Come on,” he goads. Reid thrusts into his tight fist one more time and he orgasms. He spills his seed onto the wall in front of him. He’s sensitive to the touch and buzzing with uncomfortably arousing nerves. 

Hotch laughs so low that he strains to hear it. He’s thrilled. He’s sated. 

He feels weightless.

. . . 

It’s early in the morning on Saturday when Reid is sitting at his desk writing reports and Hotch leans in close to his ear whispering, “Wheels up 10.”

It isn’t much time to prepare so he grabs his go bag and heads down the hall. The walk out to the jet alone would land him just on time. 

He boards the jet and he’s the first one on; he’s never been alone on the jet before. Five minutes tick by and he wonders where everyone is. 

The only person that gets on is Hotch and he closes the door behind him. 

“Where’s the rest of the team?” he asks. 

Hotch ignores him. Instead, he leans back on the door he just came through and eyes Reid until he feels antsy and nervous. 

“Oh,” Reid says. He gets it now. 

Hotch looks like he’s about to smirk but his face remains stoic as ever. “Take a seat, Reid.” 

He does, and Hotch sits right across from him. 

“Well?” Hotch says, “Go ahead, then.” 

There’s no pretense for what he’s implying. 

Reid flushes pink and he hasn’t even gotten started yet. He’s hard already and lets it spring out in full view. Hotch, his _boss_ is sitting not even three feet away. He’s looking, watching. Smirking. 

One hand with a steady pace starts him off, then he’s licking his palm and pumping fast, his lower lip caught in between his teeth and turning deep red. 

Every movement he makes is tracked by Hotch's eyes. He’s cool, calm, and unaffected as he watches; the polar opposite of Reid, who is squirming and panting in his seat. 

He’s never been harder before. It feels like velvety smooth steel in his hand. Hair is starting to stick to his forehead, it’s getting damp with sweat. He’s pumping his cock in fast motions and never moving his eyes away from Hotch’s. He couldn’t if he tried. They're mesmerizing. 

Hotch doesn’t break eye contact even as he takes out his phone and presses a speed dial. 

“Hey, JJ. Wheels up in 20. Let everyone know.” 

Spencer cums at the sound of his voice and whimpers as he lets go. It’s borderline euphoric. His chest is heaving. He has cum sticking to his fingers. 

Hotch has a smile on his lips. “Go again.”

“Again?” Reid pants, “I cant go again, there’s no way- And the team will be here soon.” He straightens himself up in the chair. 

“Better get moving then, Reid. Don’t want to get caught, do you?” The corner of Hotch’s lips turn up in a smirk as he laughs, “I think maybe you do.”

Reid groans and grips his overstimulated dick. Yes, he wants to get caught and Hotch knows it. It’s why he's sitting across from him with his pants around his ankles and his hand wrapped tightly around himself. It’s the reason he’s cum in a police station bathroom in nearly every single state in the country. 

He can hear Hotch’s wristwatch tick in the silence. He’s building up again, gaining hardness, but it’s slow and his body is taking its time. He bucks his hips forward, grips tighter, strokes faster. 

Hotch is watching, amused. They’re still holding eye contact and it’s making him mad. He’ll have to go to the loony bin after this. It’s like being on display and having every part of you appraised in great detail. Reid can only hope that Hotch likes what he sees. 

He lets out a strangled moan, it covers up the ticking of the clock for just a moment until its back. He’s only got a few minutes left before the team starts showing up. He’s been pumping himself for so long and he’s no closer to the edge than he was five minutes ago. 

He lets his jaw go slack and imagines Hotch’s calloused hands sliding down his waist and over his hips. He imagines his hands slipping over top of his own and guiding him as he jerks himself. His heart aches. 

He doesn’t close his eyes. Hotch is still staring intently. There’s an unspoken agreement that he’ll look back until the end. 

Precum beads at his tips and he whines. Just a little bit more. A few more minutes and he’s there. The ticking is steady, he knows that, so why does it seem like it’s getting faster?

Hotch is smirking. “Times running out, Reid,” he says, low and teasing, “They’ll be here any second.”

Seconds isn’t enough. Sweat drips down the side of his head, right along his temple. He squeezes tighter, right at the tip, but he isn’t cumming. He whines, he bucks his hips; he wants his release so bad he can taste it. 

Footfalls are sounding out in the distance. He’s running out of time. He pumps desperately, tightening his grip and holding his breath. They’re getting closer. He can make it. _Schlick Schlick Schlick_. He just needs a second more. 

“Come on, Reid. Finish up,” Hotch says with a smirk. 

Morgan’s voice is getting close, too close. He’s nearly at the door. Prentiss and Rossi are right behind him. 

He groans and pants and wriggles in his seat. He’s almost there. He needs it. 

The latch on the jet door slides and clicks. It’s about to open. He's still looking at Hotch but he needs something. He needs that voice. Hotch knows it. Hotch knows everything. 

Hotch is only smirking. He needs it, so please, why won’t he give him release? 

“Cum, Reid,” he says. The door is opening. 

Hotch’s voice is so deep and penetrating. He moans and spills his load out in hot spurts. It lands on the floor in front of him, it lands on Hotch's shoes, it trickles down his fingers. He shoves his sore cock back in his pants with fumbling fingers faster than he can breathe. 

The team is filling in and he hopes to God they didn’t see him. (And hopes to God they did)

“Good job,” Hotch says, as he crosses his leg up on his knee. Cum slides lazily down his shoe. Reid blushes furiously. His heart is thumping in his chest. He’s still reeling from the thrill. 

He sits back and meets Hotch's eyes again for the millionth time that day. They’re just as lust blown as his own. Hotch definitely knows. It’s _thrilling._


	3. Two Can Play at That Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ehehehehehheehheheheheheehehehehehheeheeeee

If anyone notices that he’s got sweat dripping down his forehead, no one says word. 

Reid used to think that his endeavors were his best kept secret, but now he’s not so sure. 

For one, his boss is definitely on to him. Okay, _way_ more than on to him. Secondly, he’s sitting on the jet with dried sweat on his forehead and no good reason why. 

He’s in a small custodial closet when an idea pops in his head. It’s a stellar idea and he moans when he thinks of it. It’s either the idea, or the fact that he’s currently pleasuring himself, or both. 

Probably both. 

He hasn’t cum in a week and his gears are all pent up inside, barely turning. He needs a release to get things running smooth. He’s biting his bottom lip and thrusting his hips forward into his tight, wet fist with fervor. The air inside the closet is getting thick and hot; it smells like sex. 

Hotch comes in with a small burst of cold, fresh air. He’s standing behind him watching like always. “Good, Reid,” he says low. 

Reid hears that idea again. 

He reaches back and grabs Hotch’s hand in a swift motion. Hotch stills; his hand is like stone, unmoving. Did he go too far? Where did the line go? He hasn’t seen the line for miles. 

He moves Hotch’s hand to rest on his bare hip. He slides it down his thigh and despite how awkward and still it feels, it’s warm and he’s getting off on it like nothing else. 

He’s got every intention to pull his hand closer and make him grip his cock like he's aching for, but the feeling is _too much_ and he cums in his hand to those fingertips pressed into his thigh. 

Hotch hasn’t said a word or moved a muscle. He’s standing there like a statue, but Reid ignores it; he’s reeling from his high. He takes his fist that’s sticky with cum and wipes it on Hotch’s hand while a torrent of nervous butterflies explode from his chest. 

He’s crossing a line, all right, and he _loves_ it. 

It’s thrilling. 

Hotch clears his throat and murmurs quietly into the closet, “Get back to work, Reid.” There’s a laugh this time too, but it’s shakier. 

Reid doesn’t think he’s going to think about work for a while. 

He wants to follow Hotch out and see what he does about that hand, but his pants are down around his ankles.

All his gears are oiled and running smooth. 

…

The team is in Indiana chasing a killer when Reid slinks away to the nearest restroom and unzips his fly. He’s wired up on three cups of coffee and his erection is already straining in his hand. 

He spits on it and starts stroking slow. It’s tantalizing, teasing. He’s rock hard and wanting. The slow strokes aren’t cutting it. He grips tight and thrusts, plants a hand on the wall and starts fuking into his tight wet grip at a rapid fire pace. He’s in the zone. 

The door opens, it’s Hotch, he’s at his back, Reid is pleased. Reid wants to get this show on the road: his cock is begging for more and his heart is having a conniption in his chest. 

He takes his hand off the wall and leans back. One more step and he’ll be pressed up against Hotch’s suit. 

He goes for it. 

Hotch is still. He’s warm and Reid can feel the fabric of his slacks against his bare bottom. Just like last time, he doesn’t doesn’t move. Reid is in complete control. He works his hand up and down his length. He’s going slow again. He wants to show Hotch just how big he really is. He wants him to imagine taking all eight inches up inside him. 

It’s just a fantasy. 

He tips his head back. Hotch is still pressed up behind him giving him silent permission. His neck is stretched and exposed as he leans all his weight back and squeezes his cock so tightly he can hardly breathe.

He grabs Hotch's hand and moves it dangerously close to his balls. He can just barely feel his fingertips brushing up against them. He moans out, he can’t help it, he’s too far gone. “Ah, Hotch—”

He cums. He lets it drip down his length until it slides on Hotch’s hand thick, ropey, and warm. 

Reid tilts his head to the side. He’s never been this close to Hotch's face and it makes him nervous in a good way. There’s sweat misting his neck and he can see Hotch’s pulse beating in his carotid. He opens his mouth and bites down; it’s sweaty and musky and if he had anything left in the tank he’d be trying to cum again.

Hotch backs up. Reid stumbles but he catches himself on the wall before he falls. Hotch says nothing while looking at him in the eye. 

“Bye, Hotch,” he pants. There’s stars in his eyes.

. . . 

A week later Reid finds himself in the bathroom on the west end of Quantico because there hasn’t been a case for days and he’s getting antsy. He’s not entirely sure if Hotch is going to find him this time but he’s got the stall unlocked just in case, and he’s facing toward the door so Hotch will have to face him head on if he does.

He’s got his tie strewn up over his shoulder and his slacks bunched down below his knees, with his hand gripping his cock tightly. It’s hot and throbbing with delicious pleasure as he strokes it with a steady hand. He speeds up his pace. He’s chasing his orgasm and it’s a race he doesn’t intend to lose. 

Soon enough his chest is heaving and he’s wishing he wasn’t wearing a sweater vest made of cotton, but he’s not going to stop to take it off now. Somewhere in his rushed, frantic motions he heard the door to the bathroom swing open and the confident steps leading right up to his stall. It’s Hotch, of course; he knows exactly where he wants to be. 

Reid looks up with half lidded eyes and see’s Hotch’s stern face looking back at him with determination set in his features. “Reid,” he says. It’s teasing. 

“Please,” Reid pants. He’s asking for a lot of things with just one word, but he’s sure that Hotch will give everything he wants. 

Hotch steps forward. He’s not exactly doing much, but that doesn’t matter much to Reid because he knows full well what those hands of his feel like against his skin and he’ll make sure they go exactly where he wants them. 

Hotch is biting his lip when Reid looks back up at his face. He’s moved Hotch’s hands onto his hips, and he’s sliding one slowly down to the base of his cock, somewhere new and exciting, somewhere Hotch has never touched before. He uses his hand to close Hotch’s fingers around himself and the pleasure is undefinable. He’s throbbing, practically vibrating with lust, and he feels like he could burst from the pressure. 

Reid only needs a few strokes from that amazing, calloused hand before he pops, but he wants it to last longer. He tries to hold himself back with every bit of self restraint that he’s got, but as he uses Hotch’s hand to stroke himself, squeezing down and making it tighter until their hands are both red and sore, he cums all over Hotch’s suit jacket with a breathy gasp.

“You might want to take that off,” Reid laughs, still panting. His smirk is wide and mischievous, and he’s seeking some sort of reaction from him; anything will do. 

Hotch blushes, and that’s unexpected, but Reid thinks that it suits him nicely and wants to see more. He presses closer. There’s a line in the tiles on the floor and he crosses it with a grin. He’s looking down again at his cum splattered on Hotch’s jacket and it gives him a hot satisfaction in his stomach, but he needs _more._ With his heart hammering in his chest he reaches down and feels it on his fingertips. It’s warm and wet; he rubs it between them experimentally. He’s only got one thing on his mind and it’s that he’s going to remember this look on Hotch’s face forever. 

Hotch is watching with intent, but he doesn’t say a word. That’s good, because Reid wants him to use those lips for something else entirely. He uses his thumb to smear his cum along Hotch’s lower lip and wonders if he’ll open up and taste it or leave with it glistening on his lips like cheap lip gloss. 

Hotch does none of the above, and it’s the first definitive move that he makes yet: he grabs Reid's wrist, holding him in place, and takes two fingers in his mouth. It's a wet hot paradise and Reid is floating on cloud nine. It’s more than he can handle. He’s surprised that his heart doesn’t stop beating right there in his chest. It feels like Earth has slipped on its axis and is spinning to a whole new rhythm. 

It’s Hotch’s mouth. Inviting, sucking, wet, hot, wanting. Hotch’s mouth is full of the musky taste of his cock and the salty bitterness of his cum, he knows it. Hotch is _tasting_ him. 

Reid is hard again even though he _just_ spilled his load. Hotch doesn’t notice, because his eyes are just little slits barely kept open, and before Reid can even begin to get Hotch to give him _more_ , his mouth is opening and he’s backing out of the stall without a word. 

Reid is left standing there with a sore, hard cock, and spit laced fingers. 

And, oh, Jesus. It’s _thrilling._

. . . 

Reid has jacked off every night since that day thinking about Hotch’s mouth and he hasn’t once entertained the fantasy of anyone catching him in the act other than him, and really, he isn’t catching him so much anymore. 

He doesn’t catch him in New York either when he slips in behind him and closes the door, nearly squishing him into the wall of the precinct supply closet. It’s familiar, the warm weight behind him. Reid closes his eyes and takes a deep breath because Hotch’s cologne is sending his thoughts swirling to wonderful places. He’s already completely turned on and rubbing his cock.

Reid manages to turn himself around and face Hotch. His eyes are dark and thoughtful, and Reid finds it to be incredibly seductive. He’s moving his hand up and down his length while touching Hotch’s trouser clad thighs in the process. They’re the worst kind of barrier, Reid thinks, because that skin could be right up against his hand; Hotch’s bare thighs, my God. 

He’s sweating already; it’s dripping down his temple. He’s fevered and hot. The little closet is burning with energy. Hotch reaches out for his cock, but Reid doesn’t want his hand. He’s in a frenzy of feeling and only his mouth will do the trick. 

He meets Hotch with frantic eyes; he knows he looks mad but he can’t bring himself to care. He grabs Hotch’s tie and gives it a hard tug. He looks confused for a moment, but then Reid sees realization dawn on his features and he's pretty sure that even if he didn’t tug on his tie again, he’d still be getting down on his knees. 

Hotch doesn’t waste any time. His tongue is out licking and then his lips are enveloping him in a wet ring of pleasure, it’s nearly all he can handle. He slides down on his cock and it’s sinful. Reid drops his head because he can barely keep himself upright. Hotch’s tongue is swirling around the tip of his cock and it’s doing things that he can hardly even imagine are real. He wants to burst, wants to grab that short black with a tight grip and fuck into his mouth until he cums. 

He lets Hotch suck. He does such a good job, he’s working all the right spots. Reid moans loudly, not caring anymore how loud he’s being. There’s no way he can hold back during a moment like _this_. Hotch on his knees, sucking him, God, no, he’s not holding anything back. 

He runs his hand through his hair and grips lighty, “Fuck, Hotch.” He’s brimming with lust, excitement. He eyes the door infront of him. It’s closed, but he can reach the knob if he tries, and he twists it open. The sounds of the precinct rush in. 

He’s met with a rumbling, truly obscene moan in reply; he can feel it deep in Hotch’s throat and it sends shivers through his body. It’s all he can take. He grips harder, starts taking more control. He moves his hips purposefully, fucking into Hotch’s warm mouth. He _needs_ it. It’s so good. He looks pornographic on his knees. 

He thrusts deep, feels the rim of Hotch’s throat as he goes in deep as he can. He hears gagging, feels it, it’s pushing him closer to the edge. He’s so close, he needs it, he’s almost there. It’s Hotch with his lips stretched around him, on his knees, spit dripping down his chin, hair mussed, cheeks red, eyes watery. It’s tipping so close, he’s _right there_. He grips harder in Hotch’s hair until his eyes flicker open and meet his, and then he’s _done._ He’s cumming, flooding his throat with his seed. 

He pulls out, and Hotch is gasping, panting, jizz dripping out from between his lips. It’s the most amazing thing Reid has ever seen in his entire life. He hears Hotch swallow, feels his tonge again licking his tip, feels his lips sucking gently around him, milking him dry, cleaning him up. 

Greedy, Reid smirks. 

Anyone could walk through that open door and see Hotch sucking, licking, desperate for his cock.

It’s goddamn _thrilling._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¬‿¬


	4. I Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Here's the good stuff.

Reid is flying high. His work is sharp and focused. He’s concentrating, making connections, doing great.

It feels like he’s on top of the world. 

He’s shifting his habits and making adjustments to routine; he needs more time than usual to sneak away to give himself satisfaction. Just his hand isn’t cutting it anymore. Listening to voices, feeling the fear of doorknobs twisting: it’s not _enough_ , or at least it isn’t when he’s got better options at his disposal. 

He’s on a case in Montana waiting for the results of a blood sample to arrive when he sneaks away into a bathroom and shuts himself in a stall. The floor greets his pants within seconds. There’s no time to waste. He’s got his cock in his hand and he’s rubbing with a red face. 

Unlike his work, he can’t focus on anything while he’s twisting his wrist. It’s images of dark eyes and hard pressed lips running behind his lids. Ruffled suits, deep voices, dark stubble. Wet tongues, tight throats, eager eyes. 

It’s a million images all at once, each begging for his attention, and it’s Hotch every single time. It’s an itch he can’t scratch. Not until Hotch silently slips in the stall, that is, and then he’s only growing harder. 

He gets on his knees now like it’s second nature. Those lips have been wrapped around him so many times Reid is beginning to forget what it feels like with anyone else. Hotch on his knees becomes as common as Hotch barking out orders or calling a shot. Hotch flickers his tongue around his tip, teasing and light, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. He sucks hard with hot pressure and slides wet and soft. Reid thinks he’s a mind reader. He sucks him so far down his throat that his eyes start to water, but Reid knows he _loves_ it. He watches the twitch of a smile, the dilating pupils, the flush on his cheeks. Yeah, he _loves_ it. 

Hotch is hot for him. Hotch wants him just as bad as Reid _needs_ him. Reid loves it, too, eats it up. Keeps his half lidded eyes steady on Hotch’s sex wrecked face and he’s _lost_. He doesn’t know which way is up, down, sideways, just knows one thing and it’s that he’s cumming and Hotch is drinking it down. 

He cums in Hotch’s throat as Hotch moans and sucks and draws it out of him with expertise. Reid lets himself wind down as he takes care of him softly, licking and backing off. Swallowing. Smiling.

The following week he’s listening to Hotch debrief in a conference room in Utah and he’s got a tent in his pants that's threatening to burst. He covers it with a file folder as he scuffles out of the room, feels eyes hot on his back as he leaves. He’s so hard the zipper is pressing into him. It's painful and he takes it down as soon as he’s behind a door. 

An office was the closest possible room, and that’s where he lets his cock spring up and breathe a sigh of relief. He's got no idea who the office belongs to, doesn’t care. They can come in and catch him, but he’s willing to take the risk. Hell, he revels in that risk. It’s an open invitation to the station: _catch me if you can._

He’s gripping so tight it _hurts_. Even when he spits and lubes it up, it’s still burning with uncontrollable need. He’s breathing fast and stroking even faster. He’s hunched over a desk full of crime scene photos but it doesn’t mean a thing. Precum is beading at his tip and he’s wishing Hotch were there to lick it up. He knows how much he likes it, how much he loses it over the taste of him. Reid wants to _give_ it to him. Fill him up. Sully him, satisfy him, _stain_ him. 

Hotch hears his thoughts because he’s coming through the door with a grin a second later. He’s eyeing the way Reid is sweating and trembling, barely kept standing on his own. Reid just wants to see _him_ sink down to the floor. 

He pushes in before Hotch’s mouth is open, feels his lips parting by force, hears the moan as Hotch realizes what’s happening. He doesn’t let him do his work. He’s too far gone for Hotch to give him his release, he needs to _take_ it.

He forces himself in, down to the hilt, right off the bat, and Hotch is gagging. He pulls back, forces himself in again. Resistance slips away after the first few fucks and then it’s easy access. Black hair sifts between his white knuckles as he grips harder than he should. 

Gagging, moaning, gasping; Hotch is somehow sending all the three into the air at once like he’s desperate for more and far past his limit. Reid lets go, puts him out of his misery, cums more than he has in a while. It’s pleasure pulsing out. It’s thick, and it’s ecstasy. He’s got Hotch swallowing down his seed but he keeps on _going_ , pulls out, even. Splashes Hotch’s perfectly grim face with his DNA. Smirks at him from above. Leaves it sliding down his cheek, dripping off his chin, stinging his eye. 

Thanks him. Leaves him there for anyone to find. Feels the rush of exhilaration. Loves it. Revels in it. Feels higher than before. Feels like he can do anything. Wants to. 

The feeling is incomparable. 

He likes looking at Hotch’s face knowing he's been on there. He’s thinking about that when he slides into an elevator at a corporate office they’re leading a stakeout in. There’s a camera in the corner. He knows that no one will check it unless something actually happens. Maybe he wants them to. The button for the highest floor is pressed in and he waits for the door to slide closed. 

It doesn’t. There's a shoe wedged right in the opening. Hotch is too early, Reid hasn’t even taken down his pants. He shudders. 

He can work with this. 

There’s cool metal against his back, he can feel it through his dress shirt. He’s got both hands gripping the rail on the wall and he’s staring down Hotch with a wild intensity that he can’t control. 

Hotch looks scared. He looks enthralled. He looks like he knows what he wants but he's too afraid to come get it. 

Reid isn’t afraid. 

He makes a motion with his fingers and Hotch complies, turns around, faces his back toward him. He’s waiting patiently at Reid’s beck and call. 

Reid can’t make the moment last. He’s got too much on his mind, too much to accomplish, and not enough floors to get it all done. 

He’s on Hotch's back in a flash, surging forward with all the enthusiasm that youth has to offer, and he’s pressing him into the side of the elevator. Hotch’s chest is smushed up against the wall, and his hands have found their way to the railing. Reid has his hands resting on either side of him, effectively pinning him in. He’s caged. He’s trapped. Reid has him right where he wants him. 

And dear god, Reid _wants_ him. He slips his hand up Hotch's suit coat and down below his waistband. The skin down there is soft and smooth with a pleasing amount of hair sliding roughly under his fingers. 

Hotch is so hard. Hotch’s cock is surging with blood. Reid has never felt such a completely rock hard cock and it turns him on immensely. 

He’s not looking for Hotch’s cock though, as much as it’s begging to be touched. No, he’s sliding his hand back, grabbing a handful of ass and squeezing. He’s rough about it but Hotch doesn’t mind. (If his moaning is anything to go by) 

Christ, his heart is _pounding._ He’s so close to Hotch’s perfect, fuckable ass. He’s got a finger trailing down his crack and he wants it _so_ bad.

He’s going to take it. 

His hand slips out. He’s got his other hand grasping at Hotch’s shirt collar and he growls in his ear, right close up and deadly, “Spit.”

Hotch clearly doesn’t think about it. He immediately spits. Reid’s fingers are covered in his saliva. They’re dripping. He shoves them back down his pants and finds his hole without any flourish. He presses in. It’s sticky, _hot,_ wet. He’s got such a tight ass. That little ring of muscle is squeezing against him and he’s going crazy over it. 

Reid hasn’t even touched his cock and he’s sweating. He’s breathing fast, he's sweating, his heart is drumming. He’s massaging inside that ass and it’s amazing. Hotch is trembling underneath him. He’s circling his finger around, forcing Hotch to be open and inviting. He’s making him ready for his cock. Hotch gasps at two fingers. Reid is frenzied. He _wants._ He wants it. 

He _needs_ it. He yanks down Hotch's pants and kicks his legs as open as far as his pants will allow and then his lines his spit slick cock up and _takes_ it.

He sees white. It’s hot, hot, white _hot_ pleasure. He grips the railing and plunges in as far as Hotch will let him. He gets in so far. Hotch is being so good, taking him so well, relaxing and moaning, taking, _taking_ him. 

His hips are moving fast, pounding, slamming in. The elevator is echoing with the _Slap, Slap, Slap,_ of skin on skin. Reid’s got Hotch screaming things that would make his mother turn in her grave. He’s unraveling at the seams. Reid only goes faster, fucks harder, takes _more._

He never thought anything could compare with his Death Grip but he’s surprised by just how tight Hotch's hole is squeezing him. There’s no way Hotch has been fucked there before. The feeling is pure sin knowing he’s the first one to take this from him. It’s possessive and he doesn’t care. He prefers it that way. He wants to be the first and only one to ever get in between Hotch's thighs. He’s the _only_ one that’s ever going to know just how tight his ass can clench around a cock and milk it for all it’s worth. 

He’s going to cum and fill Hotch up with his seed. His seed. Hotch is _his_ now. He thrusts into him relentlessly taking everything he has to give until he feels the shaking that says Hotch has had a release of his own, and then he claims his victory. 

He’s cumming so hard that his feet nearly buckle underneath him. He grips the railing to stay upright. A _ding!_ sounds to his left and his head snaps to the side in time to see the elevator doors slide open. 

There’s just an empty hallway and Reid laughs, half-manic. He’s relieved and giddy, and his adrenaline is maxed out, pulsing hard through his veins. He drops his head down on Hotch's shoulder as he pants, trying to catch his breath. 

He pulls out and Hotch has cum sleeping out of his tight little hole, all red and used, and it’s sliding down his balls and his thighs. It’s sexy and beautiful and he looks thoroughly fucked.

Reid did that. 

Fuck. 

Nothing could compare to the sight of seeing Hotch with a freshly fucked, red ass on an open elevator in the middle of the day for anyone to see. 

He can’t wait to fuck Hotch again and he doesn’t. The case is wrapped up and they’re on the jet back home. Reid hasn’t thought about anything except Hotch for hours. He’s replaying every dirty depraved thing Hotch has done and said over and over in his mind. 

His recall is perfect. 

Hotch gets up to use the bathroom and Reid sees his golden opportunity. He’s not going to squander it. He barely waits two minutes before excusing himself. Nearly everyone is sleeping. 

He wouldn’t care either way. 

He knocks on the plastic door and Hotch tries to step aside for him but doesn’t let him. He doesn’t need to use the bathroom. He needs to use Hotch. 

Hotch's eyes flicker to the left. He tries again to get past. Reid side steps. Presses him back. They’re both in the tiny stall. There’s no room to move. 

Reid’s got eyes that could kill. 

Reid’s got eyes that will.

He turns Hotch around with a rough hand and he knocks him into the paper towel dispenser and the sink. His fingers are quick to unzip and pull. He’s naked from the waist down. Reid bends him forward with a hand square on his back. 

Goddamn, he needs this. He looks pornographic. 

Wanting. Willing. Waiting. 

His reeling brain is still able to pluck a bottle of lube out of his pocket before he shucks off his slacks and starts stocking himself. He pours the lube over the length of his cock and starts working his hand hard and fast. 

Hotch is still with anticipation. Reid can feel it in his taut muscles. He drags his slimy cock down his crack and teases over his puckered little hole, so eager. God, he could push his tip right in. Hotch is asking for it, begging for it, he’s moaning already and he hasn’t even started. 

He likes the way that Hotch’s ass opens up and sucks him in. He pulses his tip in and out of that little ring of muscle just to see it react. 

Hotch is getting antsy and he’s beginning to lose sense of what he’s saying. Reid finds it as good a time as any to ram his cock in hard and fast, and Hotch screams, deep, low, and unprepared. He doesn’t let up. He keep pounding in. He’s unrelenting, full of energy, full of passion. He’s jackhammering. He’s sweating. He’s taking Hotch. He’s taking everything he wants, everything he _needs._

He’s tipping his hips up and angling his cock, dragging it in _just_ the right spot. Hotch moans. He moans _loud_. Hotch has forgotten where they are. 

Reid doesn’t care. He knows _exactly_ where they are and He. Doesn’t. Care. 

He hits it again. Again, again, _again._ Hotch is shaking. Reid is sweating. Both their pulses are sky high. Hotch has his hands gripped tightly on the plastic counter. Reid has his hands buried so far in Hotch’s hips they’re going to leave deadly bruises. 

Reid's hair is wild and sticking to his forehead. He lets out frantic breaths and just _fucks._

Hotch is close. He can feel it in the way that his ass is pulsing around him, squeezing him, milking him. He can see it in the way Hotch has his head tipped forward in thoughtless ecstasy. He can hear it in the way Hotch is grunting, and moaning, and shouting urgent curses with no filter and no volume control. 

He pumps into him a few more times with deliberation. He gets that sweet spot with every hard stroke and Hotch is cumming all over the counter. Reid is cumming is his ass. He pushes in slow as he spills out the last of his load and then slides out, leaving him whimpering. 

Hotch comes back to his senses immediately. 

Reid sees his face in the mirror fixed with a look of astonishment and shame, but it’s still red and blotchy with the aftermath of sex and Reid will remember it _forever_ as one of the hottest looks he’s ever seen. 

A knock sounds on the door and they both jump, then still. 

“Reid…? Hotch, are you two… okay in there?” Rossi says from behind the door. He’s not even a foot away. 

“Just fine,” Hotch barks. His voice is wrecked. 

He knows. 

Reid just grins. 

The thrill is _incomparable._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who read, and commented, and was generally awesome. (So that includes all of you, because you're all great) Have a great Sunday!
> 
> PS: to criminalmindss312and309 srry but I couldn't figure out out to do Hotch's POV, it alluded me ;_;
> 
> PPS: Hotch is a bottom and don't believe anyone that tells you otherwise
> 
> PPPS: I made this whole fic without having them ever kiss lmao


End file.
